The Devil's Promenade
by Lady of Pride
Summary: Silently, he screams.


**A/N:** I felt bad for poor Alfred after writing '_Appetence of the Dead_', so I decided to put together something milder... The bad guys still win, though. Surprise, surprise...

Title: **The Devil's Promenade**

Fandom: Tanz der Vampire

Pairing: Herbert/Alfred

Rating: Pg-13

Disclaimer: The Germans (Austrians?) are credited with making the beautiful musical, although the plot is, more or less, Roman Polanski's brainchild. I, on the other hand, own absolutely _nothing_...

Warnings: Other than homoeroticism (we are dealing with Herbert here...) and general vampirism, I think we're safe.

Starring: Kamarás Máté (Herbert) & Aris Sas (Alfred) – because they rule my world...*happy sigh*

_Spoilers/Timeline:_ Takes place during the ballroom scene when Professor Abronsius and Alfred make one last attempt to save that fool of a girl, Sarah... *grumble grumble*

Summary: Silently, he screams...

* * *

"Enjoying the music, _mon cheri_?"

Alfred chokes on his answer. The dance has taken him to the other side of the room, far from the object of his desire, and now Herbert is sidling up beside him, slipping an arm tenderly around his waist as he yanks him off the crowded floor. Alfred loses his dreadful wig in the process (watching as one of the Count's unholy guests unintentionally gives it a hearty kick back into the din) before turning to glance briefly at Sarah, hoping vaguely that she will _finally_ see that he has come to rescue her.

...But she doesn't.

Interesting enough, _no one_ really seems to notice him. All eyes are currently glued on Graf von Krolock and his stunning escort, the ever-fair Sarah, practically glowing, Alfred's one true lo—

"You're not even _listening_," Herbert whines, giving his side a decent squeeze. Alfred nearly squeals in surprise.

"I think the Professor is looking for me," he says instead, scanning the room for his old companion, hoping against all hope that somebody else hasn't subdued his mentor much in the same way Herbert has simply thwarted him. Sarah's liberation might depend entirely on Abronsius if Alfred doesn't find a way out of this situation soon... "Wait, how did you know it was me?"

Herbert rolls his eyes, seemingly unimpressed. "I saw you when I waiting for my turn at the spinet. At first I couldn't figure out why _anyone_ would want to dress as atrociously as old Corvinus, but then I realized his wife was looking for him and _voila_, here you are. Surprise, surprise..."

"You...don't sound too happy."

"A win is a win, I suppose, but I would've _much_ preferred to have found you sometime later, _alone_, where we could've enjoyed ourselves a little in privacy before your initiation."

Alfred's mind nearly goes blank. "...What?"

"_You know_," Herbert whispers coyly in his ear, "Your _'initiation'_...I'm going to bite you, silly."

That much Alfred was clear on. "I'm sorry, but I'm still caught up on the '_where we could've enjoyed ourselves'_."

"Oh," he sighs, "_Sex_, mon cheri...but as soon as father is finished parading his little tart around the room, the family will have his permission to take a strip out of you. I wanted to make it special, but I suppose this will have to do..."

"Wait, you can't—!"

"_Shh_!" Herbert hisses suddenly, gesturing his arm vaguely to something beside the main entrance where everyone else has apparently turned their attention. Alfred cranes his head to catch a glimpse of Sarah struggling in the arms of the Count, von Krolock's face buried in her neck, body trembling as the reality of the situation finally dawns on her. Her eyes find his across the ballroom floor, wide and frightened, like a lamb at slaughter, pleading for him to save her...

Not far from Sarah, the Professor hollers indignantly as two of the ancient vampires take him by the arms, hoisting him up off his feet where he kicks futilely at the air like an ill-tempered child. The old man cries Alfred's name in warning before his naive assistance feels a familiar prick against his foolishly exposed neck—only this time Alfred doesn't have a good book to stuff into that horrifyingly gaping mouth. He should've known Herbert was going to take an advantage of him as soon as the opportunity presented itself, just like he should've known trying to save Sarah was a losing battle...

Shocked, Alfred jerks once in surprise as Herbert sinks his teeth into the delicate flesh of his vulnerable throat—the pain is sharp and brilliant through the haze of his disbelief.

It hurts worse than he was expecting.

Voice having abandoned him, all he can manage is a soft gasp as Herbert pins him to his chest, draining the very essence of his life force as fondly as a mortal man kisses his lover; so sickly sweet that Alfred's stomach turns. He feels faint.

Frightened, he tries hard not to think of what this new immortality means for him.

Over Herbert's shoulder, he can see the apparent disappointment of the other guests as they stop to watch the scene unfold, jealousy shining brightly in their eyes—somehow they terrify him more now than they ever did before, when he saw them crawling their way to freedom from the grave, the unholy and the undead having risen, like hell on earth, like...

Dimly he realizes Herbert is laying him out on the cool floor, still draining the blood from his tender neck as the vampire's father guides Sarah carefully across the room. Flushed, she gazes down at Alfred almost apologetically—turning her face away suddenly when they're eyes meet, as though she's too ashamed to look. Haughtily, von Krolock stares at him with a vague sense of intrigue, tilting his head to one side as he studies Alfred's pale figure, Abronsius still screaming somewhere in the background as though he thinks his curses will actually save them...

"Welcome," the Count murmurs eventually, _smugly_, as though he had always known this moment was coming. Truthfully, he probably did.

Silently, Alfred screams.

A/N: Feel free to correct me on grammar or anything else that might peeve you. A healthy dose of criticism keeps the doctor away...


End file.
